


In absentia lucis, Tenebrae vincunt.

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Cults, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, NHEV, No Happy Ending Fest, Occult, Pagan Imagery, Pagan beliefs, Paganism, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Behind tall winter trees, secrets come to play. And some secrets are better off hidden, Jongdae learns this far too late.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17
Collections: No Happy Ending Fest - 2020





	1. CORDURA (Sanity)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #:** R4-285  
>  **Prompt:** Jongdae was only looking for the clothes he had put away for the winter when he found something far more sinister. Jongdae is a little too curious for his own good and Minseok has enough skeletons in his closet to leave Jongdae wondering if he ever knew his husband to begin with.  
>  **Pairing/Main Character(s):** Chen/Xiumin  
>  **Side Characters(if any):** Baekhyun/D.O., Irene/Suho, Lia (ITZY)  
>  **Word Count:** 13433  
>  **Warning(s)/Additional Tag(s):** Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Cults, Rituals, Human Sacrifice, Occult, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Paganism  
>  **Author's note:** i hate to say it but writing murder cults it's very entertaining... I swear i'm fine

_Well, I— for love, uff, well, I even went down to hell [...]  
_ _It catches you without you realising  
_ _You realise when you go out  
_ _And you think: "how did I end up here?"_   
**Rossy de Palma, from PRESO by ROSALÍA**

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

The thing about secrets is that you never expect for the ones you love to have them. Or at the very least you expect little harmless things. Perhaps your spouse actually doesn’t like that flavour of soda but he accepted it nevertheless because it is your favourite. Maybe blue wasn’t their favourite color, they just pretended because you were excited about how good they looked in it. Things that are small and non-threatening. 

Having secrets, real secrets, meaningful secrets, means a certain level of distrust, of falling out of love or maybe even just fear. 

Jongdae’s secrets are fairly easy to uncover and most of the time Minseok, his adoring husband, figures them out in the funniest and stupidest of ways. 

One of Jongdae’s biggest secrets was that he actually hates that stupid brown sweater Minseok gifted him for his birthday the first year they started to date. Minseok found out on their fourth anniversary since they met and second since their wedding. They were wine drunk and making out in the suede sofa of their living room and Jongdae complained about how itchy the fabric was and how ugly he looked wearing it. And all Minseok did was laugh and rip it to shreds with a pair of scissors before defiling their beloved coffee table with screaming-hot anniversary sex. 

Then he found out that Jongdae pretended to like coffee for the first six months of their relationship but then actually started to like it and now complains that his addiction is attached to Minseok’s love. Minseok kisses his cheek and tells him that the addiction will last forever since he has no plans to ever let him go. Nevertheless, most morning’s Jongdae finds a cup of green tea sitting next to the mug of dark Americano Minseok loves to drink before going to work. 

People tend to call them a weird couple since their jobs are so vastly different.

Minseok is a highly known well respected forensic doctor working with the local Homicide Investigations Unit and occasionally traveling out of the country for resonant cases all over the world. His clever analysis of corpses and crime scenes have led to solving cases that otherwise would have had an open ending. 

Jongdae on the other hand is a smart knowing-all botanist and landscaper who has become a well known personality in the business after designing the gardens of several celebrities’ private residences. 

Yes, together they make tons of money but there is a price to such success and that is that there are long periods of time when Minseok and Jongdae are in separate cities, countries or even continents. It's harsh but as Minseok always say when they videocall, the reuniting-sex is always wonderful. 

Lately, Minseok has had to work extra hours as apparently the 50s are coming back with a pink milkshake and a freshly new serial killer in the neighbourhood, but not much fuss has been made about this since his victims are mostly ex-convicted felons, rapists and wife beaters. So Jongdae may triple check every window and every door before going to bed, but he doesn’t feel that bad about the killings. 

But now after no murders have occured in the past week and a half, Minseok is allowed to take a break, meaning that for the first time in years Jongdae and Minseok have time for themselves and for a romantic and cold winter holiday. 

Jongdae is beyond static for the opportunity to run away with his former college sweetheart turned sexy 35 years old husband who still looks under 30 because his genetics are blessed by celtic gods or something equally mystic. 

He has made incredibly impulse purchases like matching flannel pajamas and matching sweaters and cute mittens. Minseok's shopping experience has been less impulsive but more scary, buying two snowboards even if Jongdae is trying not to die this winter. So Minseok caps off his shopping endeavours with several silicone molds to sate Jongdae’s winter hobby: baking things with way too much sugar. 

“Jesus Christ, since when do we have so many hawaiian shirts?” Jongdae complains as he rummages through the many shelves of the walk-in closet. 

It’s Saturday, 3pm, 15°C, Autumn. In two weeks it will be winter and Jongdae is readier than ever to leave the city. They will stay in their newly finished house, a beautiful lodge with central heating, sauna and a pretty chimney. Located at the base of a short mountain range and surrounded by a dense population of conifer trees, with a gentle stream of water cruising through their property. 

Minseok calls it the epic fairytale hut and it’s his dream home. They have been working together on each step of the building process, making sure Minseok had a room to hang his football banners and a screen large enough with a comfortable couch so he can watch as many matches as his heart desires. Of course, Minseok biggest request was a big bed and lots of blankets because in his own words “ _cold weather calls for hot sex_ ”.

He actually went to the house several times as the house was being built, making sure to keep in line the people working on their winter retreat, always the responsible man with a penchant for controlling every situation that he is able to. 

“Because someone had a peculiar fascination with them after our hawaiian holiday two years ago,” Minseok says from the other side of the room, picking out sweaters but not finding the gloves nor the scarves or the actually well insulated winter coats they will need.

“Most are your size,” Jongdae retaliates, looking back at his husband. 

Minseok shrugs, “you said I looked like a hot dad and that seemed to turn you on a lot.”

“Don’t discuss my kinks in front of our child!” Jongdae smacks Minseok’s forearm and he just laughs, crouching to pick up a meowing Tan, their pet that is always demanding attention. 

“Was it a kink or just a phase?” his husband asks, smirking over the spoiled ball of fur. 

“I’m not a phase, dad” Jongdae jokes, then turns around, sighing his defeat. “I can’t find anything. Keep looking here, I’ll check in the attic.”

“Ok” Minseok answers, mindlessly petting Tan in between her elegant ears, eyes shut in contentment. 

Jongdae climbs the stairs like an arthritic man, turning on the lights and sighing because when did so much dust accumulate up here? Making a mental note to clean later, he moves past the abandoned cardboard boxes and the shelves full of things he didn’t remember they had, headed straight to the two wood wardrobes they have stored in the attic. 

The largest of the two, oak wood with golden handles, it’s Miseok’s family heirloom. It’s very sturdy and it used to be their assigned wardrobe when they got married. But eventually Minseok got tired of it, said it was out of style and even if Jongdae squinted (when did his husband acquire a sense of house decor styling?) he had to agree and they almost broke their backs putting it up there. 

Jongdae hums an old little melody as he rummages through the smallest piece of furniture, opening drawer after drawer, only to find old fashion magazines, college textbooks that he must have forgotten to sell when he graduated, some old clothing that he needs to move to a separate box so they can donate (but not before washing it, they smell like dust and humidity). 

In Minseok’s old furniture he hopes. He opens the two large doors and finds no dust inside. Jongdae quips an eyebrow, looking at the boxes and how pristine they look despite how dirty everything looks around them. 

Inside the wardrobe there are six boxes and most of them are full with old clothes too, way too old clothes. Jongdae supposes they must be a family heirloom too. In one there is something that looks like a priest’s stole, purple and embroidered with little silver skulls and green leaves. One of the boxes, however, has… something. Jongdae can’t put a name to it. A very slender bottle full of some sort of dark wine, a string with little bones attached to it, and under them, a book. 

It has a velvet cover, soft to the touch but noticeably used, worn out. He opens it, curiosity winning over common sense, and flips through the pages only to find a writing that he does not recognize. That can’t possibly be a human made language, it feels more like random scribbles accompanied by illustrations of hideous things, monsters and creatures and circles… and a man with an open chest, heart on display, eyes vacant and arms covered in runes, around him two hooded figures with knives on their hands. 

“I found them!” Minseok’s voice says from under the stairs. Jongdae jumps a little, putting the book into the box and pushing it back to its place in the blink of an eye. 

“Where were they?” he says, voice trembling a bit. 

“In the bottom of the laundry basket,” Minseok steps into the attic with a smile, arms wrapped around the winter coats, but it falters then, his happy expression replaced by a very concerned one. “Are you well? You look pale” he steps closer, putting down the coats and putting the back of his hand over Jongdae’s forehead.

“Yeah, I just…” he scoffs, taking Minseok’s hand in his “I saw a bunch of spiders and you know how I get around them.”

“Spiders?” Minseok sputters. “We really need to fumigate. I’ll call them later so they come when we leave, ok?”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s have some tea,” Jongdae responds, all too eager to walk away from the attic. Minseok nods, picks up the coats and takes Jongdae’s hand again, walking down the stairs together. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

Baekhyun’s cookies are always the best, even if sometimes they come with a way too heavy dose of annoyance.

“Aren’t you happy we’ll be winter neighbours too?” he asks, dipping the gingerbread man in his hot choco with a way too sinister smile. 

Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, married neighbours and old time friends, have purchased a property only a few acres away from Minseok and Jongdae’s winter retreat. Theirs is a very delightful chalet with jacuzzi and all that used to belong to an NBA player or something alike. It was expensive and it’s amazing and Jongdae is only a little bit envious. He has his epic fairytale hut, he doesn’t need a 70 inches wide curved screen TV to be happy.

“Not really,” Jongdae shrugs, crossing his legs and resting his back on his very comfortable old man sofa “I’ll have to deal with you during Christmas and you always bring the same board games. We know you suck at Clue, just drop it.”

“Don’t be mean to your best friend, Kim Jongdae!” Baekhyun retaliates. “What would you do without me! Me! Your adorable friend who knows all your dirty secrets!”

Jongdae shivers, stretches the sleeves of his sweater a little bit more. In three days they’ll be leaving for their winter holiday and he still hasn’t had the heart to ask his husband what was that strange box in the attic. That’s a secret, a secret that Minseok has and a secret that now belongs to Jongdae too, even if he doesn’t know it’s nature. 

A few nights ago he visited it again, opened the box with extreme care, only to find that half of its contents were missing, leaving only the book. Looking over his shoulder every two seconds, he flipped its pages and took some very precarious, sometimes straight up blurry pictures. He needed to know that this was a real thing and not something he made up in his mind. 

“What dirty secrets?” Minseok asks as he waltzes into the room with a bottle of whiskey, Kyungsoo walking right behind him. 

“Oh you know,” Baekhyun says, lolling his head, “kinks and things like that, nothing you care about.”

“Oh, but I know them all,” Minseok taps Jongdae’s leg and lifts it, letting his strong man husband pick him up and sit him in his lap. “Don’t I?”

“Pretty sure you do,” Jongdae answers, even if his mind is still haunted by secrets and questions and if it’s appropriate to tell your husband that you have been prying in his stuff and found something less than expected. 

“So he knows the whipped cream one?” Baekhyun mutters, like the insidious poisonous beast he is. 

“Baekhyun!” 

“First year of college was a wild experience, I tell you that” the menace man says and by his side, his serious husband nods. 

“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones!” Jongdae points out, smirking, “Did you tell Soo about the shower thing?”

It’s delightful for once to catch Baekhyun out of guard, turning fifty shades of red in ten seconds. “It happened once!” he screams but Jongdae is already doubled up with laughter.

That night Jongdae doesn’t have the chance to look into the book and the contents, doesn’t get to check if something it’s written in any language that he understands, because Minseok has let him bruised and tired after one too many rounds of rough sex, all because Jongdae refused to tell him what the ‘whipped cream’ thing was. 

However, in the morning, after Minseok leaves for his daily run, he climbs to the attic. 

Jongdae opens the wardrobe and picks out the boxes until he takes the one he wants. Nothing. The book has vanished too. The desperation catches up to him, browsing through the boxes like a mad man, spilling clothes all around him. 

Jongdae looks over his shoulder when he hears the creaking noise of the stairs.

“You are back early,” it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he sees Minseok standing there, eyebrows furrowed, still wearing his coat. 

“I am, my ankle hurts a bit,” his face remains the same, not angry but full of something too akin to it for Jongdae to feel nothing but intimidated. “When I came in, I saw the light on up here and thought something was wrong. Are you looking for something?”

“No.” Jongdae lies, sweating buckets, and tries to correct himself. “Well, yes. You had some old clothes here and I thought… maybe we can donate them. Some look like winter clothes and people in need surely have a use for it.”

Jongdae never noticed how menacing Minseok looks in low light, how his features get sharper, his eyes grow darker. He is not the biggest of men, but Jongdae, sitting on his haunches, feels in the presence of a titan. Minseok looks through the pieces of clothing over the floor, picking them up and placing them back in a box, and just then Jongdae notices the absence of the strange stole too. _Huh_. 

“You are right,” he finally says, stepping back with a very old, very worn out pink sweater and smiling down at Jongdae “We’ll pack them tomorrow and leave it to your brother before we leave.”

“Sounds good to me,” he answers, taking the hand Minseok offers. Together, they put back the boxes in the wardrobe and Jongdae pretends none of the recent events have caused him panic. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

The sweater Jongdae wears the morning they leave for their winter retreat is made of the softest wool Jongdae’s hands have ever touched. It’s beige with little pink patterns on the hems, sleeves long enough to swallow his hands, leaving only the very tips of his fingers out. It’s a gift from Minseok, handed to him in the early hours of the morning, right after breakfast and coming with a shower of kisses. 

“I want you to be cozy and warm through the journey,” he said as Jongdae unwrapped the present, “It’s going to be a long trip, love,” he said, reverent hands helping Jongdae put on the sweater, slowly descending down his sides, keeping still on the waistband of his jeans, teasing him with slow, languid kisses, that lead to nothing but to a soft pat on his shoulder and a quick ‘hurry up, we need to get going’.

It has always been his ability to take Jongdae’s worries away, distract him from things that have his little head spinning for days, and that was one of the many things that made Jongdae adore Minseok. But now there is something inherently annoying about this, about Minseok’s need to push Jongdae’s questions away whenever they are about to leak through the seams of his pátience. 

He has tried his best to ask, to win against his own fear, and clear out the doubts that had piled up inside his mind. Jongdae just wants to know what the objects were, why they were in the attic. Maybe just a simple explanation of ‘it’s a family heirloom’ or ‘when I was a teenager I was into occult stuff’. But everytime he wanted to ask, Minseok had deflected. It’s almost as if he could see the question start to form and decided he didn’t want to hear it. 

And every single time it ended up with Minseok’s skilled hands, the knowledge of years upon years spent together, and Jongdae feeling deflated, too tired to even bother to complain or ask anything.

As Jongdae closes the trunk of the car, looking around him and seeing the daylight start to rise in the east, he thinks that maybe he can get an explanation out of his husband once they are out of the city, away from the neighbourhood in which everyone knows them. Maybe in the silence, behind tall winter trees, he can finally get a satisfying answer and move away from that silly little doubt. 

He climbs to the passenger seat and smiles when Minseok hands him his little travel neck pillow. 

“You always get sleepy when we travel in the early mornings,” he says, winking before he starts the engine and drives away from their suburban house to the main road of the city and then into the highway that melts into the obscure routes that lead to the mountains. 

It’s an eight hours long trip that becomes shorter which each nap Jongdae takes. Eventually he takes over the wheel, letting Minseok sleep soundly in the backseat. Eventually Minseok convinces him to stop in a gas station to go to the bathroom despite Jongdae’s protests that ‘it’s nature, no one will see you pee!’ because Minseok wanted to wash his hands properly and not just throw on some liquid alcohol and go on. 

“You whiny baby,” Jongdae says, sitting on the bench outside the station’s convenience store, watching his husband walk out with his full set of toiletries at hand. 

“It’s called being hygienic, Jongdae,” he answers, throwing a few sprays of perfume over him. “Come on, let’s go, if we make it before sunset I’ll make you pasta with that very nice sauce that you like.”

“So it is worth it tolerating you,” Jongdae snickers, earning a little ear pull when Minseok saunters past him and into the driver’s seat. 

They arrive at the fairy tale hut shortly before sunset and it’s so cold that Jongdae just skips away into the house, leaving Minseok to fend for himself with the three large suitcases and their personal backpacks. Inside there are two lights turned on, Jongdae blames Minseok since he was the last one to come into the cabin, a week ago, just to check if everything was in top condition for their holiday. 

“Let’s unpack,” Minseok suggests, grabbing his black and red backpack and shoving it under the bed.

“But I’m so cold!” Jongdae complains, hugging his own body, shaking a little bit more than what his shivers really are. 

“Go take a warm shower, you whiny baby,” Minseok mocks him, slapping his ass as Jongdae walks past him to the en suite bathroom, “I’ll go make dinner while you get ready, ok?”

“Sounds fine by me,” Jongdae answers, turning on the water before taking off his sweater and the shirt underneath and heading into the strong spray of the double headed shower. 

He showers in record time, letting the warm water spray on him for just enough time that it doesn’t melt his flesh off his bones. When he gets out of the shower, he peeks outside the bedroom door and senses the delicious smell of pasta filling the air. And so he rushes to get changed, picking up his flannel pajama pants and the thickest long sleeved shirt he owns.

Jongdae pauses for a second, considering which of his sweaters he should wear before feeling greedy and needy and walking towards Minseok’s suitcase, searching for the hoodie that he used to wear in college, the one that is large and red and with the college logo washed out after one too many times in the washing machine. He digs for a second or two before remembering Minseok packed that one last, he almost forgot to bring it, and put it in his backpack. 

So, Jongdae’s hands grab the large backpack from under the bed and open it in a rushed movement. There it is, the lovely hoodie that Jongdae adores, the one he has been digging his hands on for a decade. He grabs it and sinks his nose into the very much worn and well loved fabric, smelling Downy and Minseok’s cologne. When he is about to close the backpack, something calls his attention. 

The stole. Jongdae’s fingers brush the fabric, barely caress it, and he feels a shiver up his spine. His fingertips pass over the little embroidered skulls, silver and very detailed, with shadows and lines. The leaves around them are made with precise stitches, so carefully made that the untrained eye sees the same shape with the same details, repeated over and over. A perfect pattern. Four leaves around a skull, a rune of some sort and then the leaves and the skull again, over and over until the fabric ends. 

“Dae, dinner is ready!” Minseok calls and Jongdae almost loses his balance in his haste to get up and push the backpack under the bed at the same time. 

When he sees that Minseok is not coming towards the bedroom, he sighs. 

“I’m coming!” he answers, kneeling again to place the hoodie in the backpack, close it and push it away as if nothing had ever happened. He then opens Minseok’s suitcase once more and grabs the first hoodie he can find, blue with white stripes on the shoulders.

Jongdae walks into the kitchen with hesitant steps. If Minseok notices his weird manners, lingering on the edge of the door for too long, grabbing the frame of the door with such tight claps that it turns his fingertips white, he does not mention it. 

When he is finally eating, he gets some sauce on his chin. Minseok rushes to help, grabbing his jaw carefully, thumb coming to clean the stain on his skin, before placing the finger covered in red over Jongdae’s lips. And because he is a well trained lover, he opens up and laps at it, seeing the resulting rush of lust filling Minseok’s eyes as something scary rather than estimulating.

It will be a long winter.


	2. LITURGIA (Liturgy)

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

The following morning, Minseok wakes up at 5am.

It had been a strange sort of night. Shortly after dinner, Jongdae had claimed to feel sick, a stomach ache due to a lot of pesto sauce, and recoiled to the bed with a glass of water and a goodnight kiss from Minseok. He stayed up late, Jongdae could hear him move through the house, and at some point he could vaguely make out the faint sounds of the tv, something akin to a sports game, maybe basketball or football. 

In the dim lit morning room, Jongdae can hear him move, sitting up in the bed and stretching out like a lazy cat, groaning softly. 

Jongdae pretends to still be asleep, pretends to not feel Minseok’s hand patting his shoulder, his lips brushing his temple with a long exhalation afterwards, and keeps himself still in the bed. 

But as usual, he is found. 

“Dae” Minseok whispers, fingers brushing Jongdae’s hair softly, “I know you are awake.”

“Hmm?” Jongdae shimmies under the blankets, grabbing them tightly. His eyesight is still blurry, voice sleep ridden as he tries to say something else. 

“Let’s go for a run, Dae,” Minseok mouths as the skin under Jongdae’s ear, hand sneaking under the blanket, coming to rest over his belly. Jongdae smiles softly, enjoying the sweetness of Minseok’s sloppy, morning kisses. It melts away the worries and the insecurities, the things that had him hide away in his room. 

And then his brain actually registers what he said. 

“For a run?” he says through a sigh, as Minseok pulls him closer. Jongdae puts on a token protest as his hips are straddled, hands pushing his shirt up. 

“Yes, it’s good for you,” Minseok answers, biting the skin above the neckline of his pajama’s shirt, fingertips busying themselves with the sensitive areola of his nipples “Besides, you can’t complain about being too warm now, it’s winter.”

Jongdae sighs, bites his lower lip when the attention given to his upper body goes straight to the south and it makes him want to cry when Minseok’s hands purposely slide down his thighs, ignoring his growing cock. 

Jongdae caves in when Minseok kisses him for the first time in the day and knocks the breath out of him. “If you make cum before breakfast I’ll go with you.” 

Minseok’s eyes, angled and pretty, grow ten times sharper in a few seconds, eyebrows sliding down as his hand finally pushes past the waistband of Jongdae’s flannel pants and makes him scream. 

With just a glass of water and ten minutes to freshen up, Jongdae walks out to the front yard and sighs with the snowy landscape ahead. 

“I truly hate you,” he whispers as he watches Minseok close the door with a giggle. He pulls down Jongdae’s beanie, effectively blinding him for a second, and when he finally gets to see again, Minseok is already walking towards the front gate.

They walk for a few minutes, making conversation about whatever they come to see. On a curve down the road there is a small cluster of tiny houses, swiss roofs and pretty cars parked next to them. Few people are there to be seen, sunrise barely caressing the earth, and Jongdae makes a point to remind Minseok of that fact every so often. 

Not far away from that curve, no further than 200 meters away from their lovely winter home, there is a tall iron gate. Jongdae stops to stare at it, something terribly dawning on him as he stares at the intricate designs of the metal, his eyes zoning out on the upper part, brushing the lives of a pine tree.

A large, realistic silver skull, with shadows and lights, with four leaves surrounding it. 

“Dae?” Minseok calls “are you ok?”

Jongdae turns to look at him. He is very aware that his eyebrows are furrowing, hands turned to fists on each side of his body. He doesn’t look exactly calm or unsuspecting. But having seen one too many times the same thing...

“Do you know that symbol?” he asks, ignoring Minseok’s question. 

“Huh? That thing?” Minseok looks up, crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side before shaking it with a nonchalant expression. “No idea, love. Do you know it?”

Jongdae shakes his head. Regardless, he looks back at it, stares at the lower parts of the fence, past it, searching for something at the end of the path, but it’s obscured by rows upon rows of tall winter trees. 

“Let’s get going, do you want homemade bread for breakfast?”

“Sure,” Jongdae answers, tone monotonous. Minseok grabs his hand, squeezes it once and Jongdae stares at him. His husband smiles, eyes turning to little crescents. There is nothing suspicious nor scared, that is not the face of someone fearing to be found out for some sort of strange secret. 

So Jongdae smiles back, tugs his hand and starts jogging away, hoping the cold winter air stops messing with his derailed thoughts. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

In the middle of the empty field behind their home, lots of lands that Minseok had planned to build a second house in, maybe one that they could rent out and make some more money from it, Jongdae stares at the tall trees that populate the area on the edge of their property. 

They bought it because it was cheap and big, because it had a nice little stream of water coursing through it, Jongdae always admiring and rejoicing in the noise that falling water makes when it hits stones. 

Minseok is out on his daily run, kissing Jongdae tenderly before leaving at a slow pace that soon picks up before Jongdae’s eyes. 

The sun is barely out and Jongdae has no more than two hours before he is back. Maybe less. So he hurries up as he makes his way to the very edge of the property where an iron fence is disguised between bushes. On the back, however, Jongdae finds a small passageway. The fence had been broken by some sort of object, something sharp and violent cutting through it like it was butter. Jongdae is scared to know what is going on in there. 

He looks back once, twice, inhales for courage and thinks that is now or never. He steps through the cut, swatting away the leaves that cross his way, and stepping on the other side of the fence with his heart pounding on his right hand.

The land is covered in snow, like every other thing on this side of the country, but there is something inherently different in this space, something hanging tantalizing close to Jongae’s nose, like a smell he can’t correctly guess. 

The snow seems heavier, like something artificially made, yet he is sure it is just common snow, it behaves like common natural snow. So he moves further, steps away from the safety of the passageway and into the lands of the unknown, looking over his shoulder every few steps, just to make sure that the way out is there, still exists. 

The property is filled with trees, deep foliage hiding most things from sight, but he can still roughly make the shape of a large, antique style house in the distance. It’s probably where the path behind the large iron gate ends, obscured by leaves and branches. Jongdae can see faint shadows, probably people walking around the property, but they are too far away so he still doesn’t fear even if he walks half crouching, running to take shelter behind the trees with wide trunks.

On a few trees there are faint markings, some of them look deliberate, as if they were made with knives, and others are just scratches, like those a house cat would cause on random pieces of furniture. Jongdae traces with a gloved hand the cuts in the bark and wonders just what type of people live in this place. 

And then, in some other trees, Jongdae comes across metal. Wall sconces made of a textured metal with large and thick black candles sitting on them, with a glass cover, probably to protect them from the snow. Jongdae is phased, looking at the landscape around him and then back at the candle. 

He walks a little bit further, keeps eyes wide open, keeps himself alert. The closer he is to the house, the faster his heart beats. It’s getting progressively more luminous, daylight creeping through the foliage with gentle fingers, and Jongdae knows he needs to make a run back home. 

But when is about to turn around, he hears a familiar voice. It’s female, and the soft words are followed by a giggle. He sneaks around a bush to get a visual and sees a child. By the looks of it, the child is no older than four, maybe five years old, and is wearing a large and puffy winter coat, with a beanie on their head. The woman calls again and this time she says a name and Jongdae can put a name to the face that swims into view. 

“Jisu, be careful!” Joohyun, his sister in law and childhood friend, calls. 

Jongdae’s eyes widen, then a dog barks and someone screams intruder. Joohyun grabs the child and goes inside the house, Jongdae runs. 

He is pretty sure he has never before made a run like this, fast and desperate, like a fan fleeing hell and all it’s fledglings. He crosses the fence and trips on nothing, scrambling to get to the safety of his home before someone catches him. Despite being on his very own property, Jongdae keeps running, disrupting the calm stream of water with his heavy footsteps instead of crossing over the bridge Minseok built.

When he finally makes it to the house, closing the door behind him with a heavy sigh, Jongdae notices two things: Minseok is already in the house, his shoes in the rack by the door, and he lost a glove in his haste to escape. 

“Dae?” Minseok calls, walking out of the bathroom with the coral red towel in between his hands. His eyebrows furrow when he sees him and Jongdae makes a conscious effort to lower his heart rate, breathing slower, smiling to him. 

“Hi dear,” he answers, chest heaving under the thick winter coat. 

“Are you ok?” Minseok steps towards him, helping him take off the coat.

Jongdae nods, out of breath. “I was… I was exploring the land,” he swallows hard, follows Minseok to the kitchen when he grabs him by the hand, leading the way, and accepts the glass of water he is given. “I saw a doe, it was really cute, so I wanted to take a picture… and then I saw a… saw a dog. It seemed rabid so I fleed the fuck out of there…” he laughs and he is pretty sure it sounds awkward and nervous, not natural at all. “It’s a long run home!” he adds, giggling. 

Minseok’s eyes are narrowed under furrowed eyebrows, but the layer of disbelief imprinted on his features lifts suddenly, replaced by a tender smile. 

“Ah, did you get the pic?” his husband asks, petting his bicep with a gentle hand. 

“Sadly, no” Jongdae answers, smiling softly “but I’m sure we’ll see another one before christmas”

“Hope we do,” Minseok says and leans in for a quick peck on the lips, before urging Jongdae to take a shower while he makes some pancakes for what he calls a hobbit breakfast. 

Jongdae turns on the shower and lets it run for a few moments, standing stark naked in front of it with too many thoughts to count. 

Why was his sister in law and her daughter in the property marked with the symbol Jongdae saw in Minseok’s strange stole? Why does Minseok have that thing to begin with? Is that property somehow related to Minseok’s family? And if so, why didn’t Minseok tell Jongdae about it? 

As far as he is concerned, Minseok gets along pretty well with his younger brother, Junmyeon, and if they don’t meet frequently it’s because they live in distant parts of the country. And Jongdae talks almost weekly with Joohyun, being friends and neighbours for the better part of their childhood, yet she never mentioned anything about having a house so close to Minseok and Jongdae’s own property. 

Too many questions without any answer… or with answers that are uncomfortable and incomplete at best. 

Jongdae takes his phone from the back pocket of his discarded pants and plays some music while he showers, hoping it drowns the questions or at least pushes them to the backburner of his mind. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

The meat Minseok made for lunch tastes a little strange. There is something stingy in the aftertaste of each bite. When he asks if he added something new to the recipe, Minseok says he put some extra rosemary, but nothing else. Jongdae keeps eating, puts some tomato and lettuce salad on his plate, the glass wine seems a little bi blurry when he looks at it. There is a sudden itch on the skin of his nape, it spreads to his shoulders, then it swallows him whole. 

When he looks at Minseok, he is blurred out beyond recognition. He stands up and away from his chair and the last thing he sees before collapsing is Minseok rushing to grab him and the faint sound of his name in someone’s lips. 

“You can’t act like this and pretend I don’t react.”

Jongdae stirs, feels like his limbs have been bound together, but it’s just the weight of the cozy thick blankets over him. It’s dark for a second, then too bright as he opens his eyes and the light of the bedside lamp hits him just right in his sore pupils, forcing him to blink way too many times. 

“I didn’t know what else to do, I needed to talk to you”

The voice sounds like Minseok but strained, nervous, as if he did something wrong and causes troubles. It reminds Jongdae of the earlier stages of their relationship, like one time when Minseok broke a glass and looked at Jongdae with such fear in his eyes that it actually worried him. Then he apologized and Jongdae just brushed it off, saying he needed new glasses anyways. 

“You could have just made an excuse, text me and make up dinner plans or something” 

The other voice is Kyungsoo, raspy and low, a dark and grim thing to it, the tinge of severity in each word. He doesn’t remember speaking with Kyungsoo and ever hearing such a gravity coming from him, but it is undeniably his voice. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just panicked”

Jongdae groans softly as he sits up, fighting the strain of his muscles, probably tightly coiled in the panic that followed his sudden itchy moment on the table. What happened to him, it’s still a mystery, but he is currently more concerned with hearing the conversation just outside the door.

“Did you tell  _ him _ ,” there is a strange tone in that, remarking the ‘him’ with a slight pause, “who trespassed the walls of the Caelum?”

“No,” Minseok sighs deeply, Jongdae can almost hear him pinch the bridge of his nose, “but I will. I need to know what to do next.”

“Seok?” Jongdae says, voice slurred, not tolerating any more hidden stories heard in whispers.

The bedroom’s door opens and Minseok’s face is pale. Behind him walks Kyungsoo, eyebrows unfurrowing as he steps into the room. 

“It’s good to see you awake, Jongdae,” Kyungsoo smiles, but there is something strange in that smile. Jongdae thinks sleep makes him dizzy, it leads him to see things. 

“What happened?” he asks, Minseok coming to sit by his side, kissing his temple bleary. 

“You had an anaphylactic shock,” he shrugs, dismissing Jongdae’s concerned expression with just a gesture “something you ate gave you an allergic reaction, nothing to be worried about. I injected you with some meds so you’ll be ok, but you should take it easy from now on. Christmas will be in two days so, let Minseok pamper you for a bit”

“Ok, thank you Soo. Send my regards to Baek,” Jongdae leans unconsciously on the hand that falls on his shoulder, seeking a comfort that he knows won’t be found. At least not now. 

“Will do, he’d be here if I weren’t because I rushed to come,” he laughs, low and melodic. “You should have heard the panic in Minseok’s voice when he called” Kyungsoo trades an enigmatic sort of look with Minseok, the corners of his lips barely twitching upwards to form an awkward smile “He truly loves you. Would risk it all for you…”

Minseok stands up, offers to walk Kyungsoo to the front gate and Jongdae bids him goodbye. He removes the top layer of blankets, needing to feel less warm in order to let his soul gain courage. The front door of the house clicks, the security code is input in the keypad, Jongdae inhales as Minseok walks past the threshold of their beloved bedroom, the one they designed together to the very detail. 

“Seok,” Jongdae says, voice as quiet as possible, all the walls have ears for all he knows.

“Yes, love?” Minseok singsongs, sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbing Jongdae’s hands and pressing kisses to their back, a sweet little smile dancing on his pink lips.

“Did you put any citric extract on the dinner?” he asks, aware that this is a dangerous question that won’t be answered honestly. He only has one real food allergy and Minseok knows it. 

“No! Of course not!” Minseok exclaims, looking terribly offended at the very prospect of Jongdae suspecting that. “Why would I do that? I love you!”

“Because you know I walked next door and saw your sister in law and your niece in there.”

Minseok’s expression hardens, squares his shoulders, a shadow crosses his features, hides the kindness and earnest sincerity he offered before, the care and comfort in his eyes vanishes, the hold on Jongdae’s hands loosens. 

“What is Caelum?” Jongdae asks, bravery holding him together “Why was Joohyun there? Tell me, Seok” he says, seeking something familiar, something real behind Minseok’s cold, cold eyes, “What is going on here and why did you never tell me about it?”

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---


	3. DE AQUÍ NO SALES (You don't leave from here)

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

Minseok opens his suitcase, digs through it with the intent of a man on a mission. Jongdae simply stares, standing under the bright lights of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. The environment feels ten times smaller, walls clutching them in a too small space. Jongdae knows the area to be wide and well lit, but the curtains are closed and he feels so cold, even with the heat on, and the world is at the same time too small and too large for his shivering body. 

Minseok throws a glance at him, hesitant, before opening the bottom of the suitcase to reveal a small hidden space and in it, the book. 

“So it was real,” Jongdae says, more to himself than to the man in front of him. 

“I was,” he answers, regardless, placing it over the table. The velvety cover, the strange runes, the yellowed pages, it’s there, physically there, an abyss staring back into Jongdae’s very soul with the eyes of a demon. 

“What is it?” Jongdae looks into Minseok’s eyes, hoping the demon isn’t there too. 

“The Book of the Knowledge of Good and Evil and All Saints and All Demons.” 

“That’s a very long name.” 

“It’s a very important name,” Minseok says, looking at him from under his lashes. Jongdae doesn’t fall for the charming spark behind them.

“I’m all ears,” he says, leaning against the breakfast bar. 

“I am a descendant of a line of priests of a religion that has no name but plenty of power.” Minseok looks around, almost fearing he’ll be heard for the wrong ears. “We worship the spirits of nature, the good and the evil that populate our world. It’s a faith that keeps us alive”

“A faith that requires human sacrifices?”

“Yes,” Minseok deadpans, shrugging as if he just admitted to liking pineapple pizza and not condoning murders. “When my father died it was my duty to take on his stead. It would have demanded a great sacrifice of me… it would have demanded the death of that which held my love.”

Jongdae gasps as the realization dawns. Minseok’s father died when they were starting to date. “You would have killed me?”

“I should have, you were the perfect target to offer. The spirits that we worship demand someone the world will miss. You had friends and family who adored you, your name would have been poured in an outcry from the earth and the spirits would have been appeased. But I refused, I have loved you forever, our souls were binded by the ancients...”

Minseok’s eyes were often Jongdae’s favourite feature of his husband, but in this light, in the light of the stories he tells, those eyes are too dark, too full of shadows that carry the weight of centuries of occultism and the consequences of sects gaining too much power over the common people in search of spirituality. 

He must see the strain in Jongdae’s heart, sense the fear shaking him to the marrow of his bones, and he steps forward just as Jongdae steps back. His lips tighten around a scarily too toothy grin. “I am no monster, Dae, I chose you,” he assures, “I was rejected for my love for you.”

“Then… then what is that stole with weird embroidery… and that fucking book?” his voice trembles, if he keeps fretting he’ll start crying and he won’t look pitiful in the face of someone he thought he knew but it’s pretty much a stranger with a familiar face. “If they rejected you why… why are we here?”

“Three years ago my brother called me to say our uncles died, the gatekeepers of the family” he laughs and it’s a rueful thing. “He told me I could come to our blood, become a priest too. I was willing to do that, only if it didn’t require your blood. And our spirits are merciful with us and offered another way out. Sacrifices of those who have wronged loved souls. So I picked the killers that had been released, the rapists that were left out with just a slap on the wrists…”

Jongdae’s brain is slow in some aspects, slow to understand that love is powerful enough to blind you from seeing what you refuse to see. Putting two and two together is a twisting and painful process. 

Imagining his lovely husband, the one that bought him houseplants and taught him how to take care of them when he was away working (was he really working every single time he left? how many times he lied and went on to commit a gruesome crime in which the victim would never be found because it was served as an offering to ancient gods that no one knows?), putting the man with a gummy smile and afternoon kisses that taste like cherry soda in the scene of a ritualistic murder is a sour thought that makes him want to vomit.

“You… you killed… you killed them... the murders in our state… you…”

“I did, and it was good,” Minseok assures, he is smirking and it sends shivers down his spine. Who is this man wearing Minseok’s skin? It’s akin to seeing a demonic possession on film, a pretty body taken over by a dreadful beast with glowing eyes and sharp teeth. “You know not how happy the spirits were, I saw it in each ceremony I made in their final resting places. I did good and we were protected.”

In which world peace comes to the price of blood? In which world is Jongdae supposed to believe that Minseok is a good soul when there is blood in those same hands that have mapped out each corner of his body? How many times did he kiss him with lips that had just finished putting together prayers for gods that demand blood in return for safety and blessings? How many times did Jongdae almost see something and closed his eyes to avoid the coarse, bloody reality?

“What will you do with this knowledge, my love?” Minseok asks, steps closer, Jongdae has no way to run, wall behind him, breakfast table on his side, fear in his guts. “Will you run away from me?” his hands find Jongdae’s waist, Jongdae swallows the lump of frightening silence in his throat. 

“No,” Jongdae’s throat is dry, inhales and exhales deeply, struggling against his fight or flight response in order to stop fretting. He needs a cold head now, a plan and a way out. 

And the only way out is the way in. 

“I want to join you in this,” there is a wavering fear in him, the idea that there is something very wrong with what he is doing. Maybe if he ran he could make it farther than what this stupid little idea can. Yet, he perseveres. “I love you and I trust you. I just wish you would’ve told me before.”

He doesn’t get to say anything else, since Minseok has leaped forward to kiss him, pushing their bodies flush. It’s a hasty and forceful kiss, violent and demanding, hungry, desperate. Jongdae forces himself to go lax, to feel this is a welcomed advance and not something that elicits fear inside his soul. The hands skimming under his clothing have killed before, will likely kill again. Jongdae shudders and Minseok breaks apart, mouths at the skin of his neck, rolls his hips forward in a way that brushes Jongdae’s most sensitive area and it makes him wish he could run. 

“I was too afraid, Dae” Minseok confesses and when he leans a bit back Jongdae can see the crazy deranged smile taking over his pretty, tender features, one by one. It’s like seeing the one you love being swallowed by the sea and just watching, unable to do nothing but see them sink into the merciless abyss. “But now I see,” he whispers, kissing him once more, stealing the oxygen inside his body, pushing him harshly against the wall. “I shouldn’t have doubted how smart you are,” one hand travels down, pushes past the waistband of his pants, making him gasps and moan and see stars in the tears that prickle the corner of his eyes. “Thank you for trusting me, love,” he whispers, before sinking to his knees. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

When Jongdae stands in front of the wrought-iron gate, skull and leaves and rust, there is a damning moment for him. The fear and the thoughts of regret pack up like months old mail. He thinks idly that there is going to be a pile of letters in his home when he returns. He then ponders if he will ever make it back home. 

The long path between the gate and the house is breached quickly, much more quickly than what he would have liked. But Minseok by his side is smiling, fueled by something stronger than simple happiness. 

He had been very thorough in showing Jongdae how happy he was that he decided to join the family, the faith that he had been so proud yet so ashamed of for his entire life. The marks on Jongdae’s skin are made with blunt teeth yet they won’t vanish in another week or two. And one of them even bled and Minseok had lapped at the wound like a feral animal, repeatedly stating how joyous he was that this blood was spilled for him and now for the spirits he worshipped. Jongdae had cried, masking it out in pleasure, thrashing around with tiny little moans to cover up the slip of his emotions. 

The house at the end of the path is large and antique as he suspected, it looks exactly like the houses of the slavery-fueled plantations, it radiates the same aura of oppression and a glorified gruesome culture. Jongdae smiles when Minseok squeezes his hand, leans to kiss his cheek before they step into the house. 

“Jongdae!” Joohyun says before running to meet him, enveloping him in an oxygen-stealing hug. Jongdae chokes on her too present perfume, peaches and something terribly citrusy under it. “I’m so glad you are here, I’m so glad you brought him here,” she says first to him, then turning to Minseok, caressing his face in a way that feels motherly. 

What sort of world has Joohyun walked into?

“It took time, but I’m here,” Jongdae answers, forcing out a smile that he hopes doesn’t look fake. 

When Joohyun talks to Minseok, telling him Junmyeon is out of the house, fetching things for the following days, Jongdae takes the opportunity to shamelessly look around the room, letting his eyes follow every pattern, every crease on the furniture. There is a large white sofa and two small arm chairs on the side, in the middle of them a coffee table with what he assumes to be another copy of the Book of Knowledge Minseok possesses. It brings to sight the other obscure objects sitting around the room, the portrait with figures that Jongdae doesn’t recognize but feels creeped out by, the little row of skulls over the fireplace, the neat collection of bottles that resemble the one Minseok had in the attic back in their home. 

“Well, come with us,” Joohyun says, grabbing him by the crook of his arm, tugging him in the direction opposite of where Minseok is “I’m no priest but I can answer your questions,”

“And Minseok?”

“He’ll go wait for Myeonnie in the back, there are things that need to be done before you are introduced to the circle.” she cocks her head to the side and from behind them appears a new figure. A familiar figure with thick eyebrows and plush pink lips. 

_ Kyungsoo. _ Jongdae mouths the name, sees the way he evades his eyes and knows then and there that Baekhyun is another victim of this story, much like he is. 

Jongdae spends the better part of the morning inside a room with walls painted in pink with tiny little flowers scattered from floor to ceiling, sitting in a settee next to a woman who knows it all about a world of darkness and secrets. She knows the name of each victim Minseok’s hands had been responsible for, she has a book with their names written in, listing down the crimes. Jongdae asks her to read the one she found most interesting. She mentions Oh Sehun, a man who killed his own father, apparently had several mental issues and was unfit for a proper sentence. But instead of a mental institution taking over, he was freed. Minseok had killed him three weeks after the trial, disposed the body in a nearby factory owned by a member of the faith. 

“There are other members outside the family?” he asks, incredulous that any law abiding citizen would join this carnival of gore. 

“Of course,” she responds, looking at him as if he were insane. “You saw Kyungsoo, he is not related to any of us, but he seeked comfort and the Faith gave it to him. And so others have joined as well, powerful people, DaeDae.”

Jongdae walks downstairs, having eaten none of the cookies nor drank a single drop of the tea he was offered, and meets with the very image of evil. 

“My dear brother in law,” Junmyeon says, there is a wicked smile on him. Jongdae always thought he was charismatic and clever, and didn't imagine those same positive traits made him such a terrific and terrifying cult leader. “I’m glad to see you here, I’m glad he brought you here.”

It seems like a salute, like something they say to any newcomer. Jongdae smiles when Junmyeon opens his arms and hugs him, makes brief eye contact with Minseok, who wears an apron of leather and latex gloves. Jongdae thinks then that Minseok’s profession makes him a perfect killer. 

Jongdae winks at him, a playful smile on his lips. Minseok’s eyes lit up, his gummy smile sems bloody now. 

When Jongdae walks out into the backyard, he fishes his phone from the pocket of his jeans and it’s so glad that it managed to record all four hours he has been in that horrible murder home. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

Minseok’s niece is a vibrant and joyful child, wearing matching red velvet ribbons in the two pigtails holding her long black hair. Her smile is sweet and full of light as she drags Jongdae around her room, showing him the toys and trinkets she has around her room in a neatly arranged fashion. Some are in chests of white wood with pretty crowns painted in gold over the handle. 

“This is my favourite doll,” Jisu says, showing him a doll with black hair and asian features rather than the typical western Barbie look. 

“It’s very pretty, does it have a name?” Jongdae asks, crouching by her side to take a look at the toy. The clothes seem handmade, looking rather similar to what Jisu is wearing right now, a long sleeved blue dress with white leggings underneath. 

“Daddy says I shouldn’t name the toys,” she tells him, a serious tone overtaking her even as she pouts.

“Why not?” 

“It gives them identity and the spirits want things that have identities.”

Jisu is seven, black haired, bright eyed and well spirited. Jongdae looks at her play with the dolls, handing him a Ken look-a-like and telling him they should recreate a ceremony of winter giving. Jongdae realizes that the ‘giving’ is a word her parents must have given to her instead of the heavier, more damning ‘sacrifice’. 

“She is lovely, isn’t she?” Minseok tells him later, once they have left the house. Christmas is in two days, Jongdae will formally be introduced to the Faith that day, much to Minseok’s joy. 

“Yes, she is,” Jongdae leans back on the passenger seat of the car, looking with narrowed eyes at the front gate ahead of them. Two men in black attire open the door, Minseok salutes them as if he knew them personally. He probably does.

“I want to go dine with Kyungsoo and Baek,” Jongdae says once they have reached their home. It’s cold and the heat system has been on during their absence, Jongdae figures the cold must have gotten into the house with them, maybe it permeated his bones once he saw a child recreating a ritualistic murder.

“Oh? Why?”

“I miss Baek. We always bicker and joke around but he is my friend and I haven’t seen him in a long time,”

Minseok smiles, “I’ll text Soo, let him know we’ll drop by then” he picks his phone, fingers moving at the speed of sound, and then he puts it back in the pocket of his jacket. “I’ll go take a shower”

“Ok, I’ll call my mom. She texted me while we were in…”

“Caelum,” Minseok supplies, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the column of his throat before stepping back with a wicked smirk.

“Caelum, yeah,” Jongdae repeats, flushed. Minseok’s lips had pressed over his pulse and it had made him fear for his life. 

They leave for Kyungsoo and Baekhyun’s house at 7pm, it’s dark and it’s snowing but it’s light, almost invisible in the way each snowdrop falls to the already way too white world. Baekhyun opens the front gate, hushers them inside to get warm by the enormous fireplace in the living room, gives them a cup of hot choco and offers cookies that Kyungsoo made in the morning. 

Baekhyun looks like a housewife, curly just dyed blonde hair and a loose but seemingly cozy wool sweater, chatting about anything and everything. Kyungsoo appears later, busy with the kitchen, tells them all to take a seat in the big table of the dining room before shoving a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in Minseok’s wanton hands. Jongdae smiles as the drink is poured on their glasses, wonders if at any point in the past Minseok had done something like the poisoning that happened the other day, tried to subdue him with tricks and lies. 

Dinner comes and goes as an unremarkable thing, the ones doing the most of the conversation being Minseok and Kyungsoo. Even Jongdae, perpetually telling his best friend to shut up for a second, thinks it’s weird that Barkhyun has only said one or two things in nearly three hours.

“Dae, come with me,” Baekhyun says, standing up after they have finished the meal, “I bought a collection of art prints that I think you will love!” 

They walk upstairs together, to the other end of the gigantic house, into a library decorated with plenty of portraits that range from natural landscapes to victorian-esque people depicted in oil painting. 

Baekhyun closes the door carefully, locking it with careful fingers. He then simply stands there, fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves, tugs them with the opposite hand and turns around to look at something in the distance. Jongdae takes this as a chance to do what mad men do. 

“Look, I don’t have much time Baek but you need to know something…” he inhales, exhales, lowers his voice as much as he can, breaching the space between them with light steps. “Seok and Soo are part of a crazy murder cult. Seok’s brother is the leader, I went to their home and it’s… it’s insane.” Jongdae swallows hard, puts his hands on Baekhyun’s arms, grabbing him tightly “I know that maybe it’ll be hard to understand and that I sound insane but-”

“So I wasn’t going crazy,” Baekhyun cuts him off, sighing deeply. His head falls, eyes closed, there is something in his voice tone that makes him sound almost defeated, like he expected this. 

“Did you know this?” Jongdae asks, shocked to the bone. 

“No,” it’s low, a whisper barely, but it carries so much pain. Jongdae’s heart strains at the sight of sorrow in front of him, Baekhyun’s eyes filling with tears as he raises his head. “but I suspected it. I saw things… I brought you with me to ask you a few things but… fuck, Dae, fuck”

In the panic, anger and pain crossing his friend’s face, Jongdae sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

His hands grab Baekhyun’s shoulders, putting them so close that they breathe the same air. “Baek, listen to me, I need you to pretend nothing happened.”

“What?” Baekhyun asks, a bewildered look swallowing his puppy eyes.

“Tomorrow, at night, there will be a ceremony” Jongdae looks around, paranoid, “I have recorded things, taken photos when I was sure no one could see me, but I need you to be the last puzzle piece and put an end to it all. You understand?”

Baekhyun nods, but Jongdae is not satisfied, asks once more, squeezes Baekhyun’s body tighter. “Yes, yes, I understand. Whatever it takes.”

Jongdae hugs him, lets him spill tears on the shoulder of his sweater, thanking God that the fabric is dark and the tears will be invisible in a minute. 

Minseok’s voice startles them. “Hey guys, Soo wants to watch a movie, are you still reviewing art?”

Jongdae shakes his head when Baekhyun attempts to speak, “We’re coming in a minute, I think I’m going to buy some for the house”

Minseok laughs, “Ok, ok, we’ll choose a movie without you then.”

“Sounds fine by me as long it’s not horror,” Baekhyun adds, managing to keep his voice stable. 

Jongdae tells him his plan, brushing over the little details that only matter to him, and Baekhyun repeats it all in a low voice. Jongdae is just making sure he knows what he has to say, what to do, where to look. How to tell if death is coming for him or not.

For better or for worse, it’s the end of the road


	4. CLAUSURA (Closure)

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

It’s December 24th, 22:45pm, it’s snowing. 

The world is getting ready to celebrate Christmas with a dinner, with family and friends, under the warm lights of their homes. Probably many have trees set up in the corner of a room, covered in decorations like plastic snowmen and glass balls filled with fake snowflakes. 

In Caelum, the home of a Faith that believes that spilling blood it’s a necessary thing to do in order to gain salvation, none of those things will be seen. No wreath, no christmas tree, no lights. No humanity loved nor humanity seen concept of Christmas reaches those beyond the veil. 

In a corner of the living room filled with occult objects, Jongdae gets a hand poked tattoo in the back of his neck, low enough to be hidden by a high shirt in winter, even if in summer it will be totally visible. 

Joohyun shows her the one she carries, it looks a little bit less sloppy than the photo Jongdae was shown of his own. Apparently the non-family members of the Faith must carry it. Since they are not blood related to the priests of old the spirits need a mark to recognize them. Jongdae wonders if he can get rid of it later down the line. 

The table is served with food that objectively looks delicious. Kyungsoo is in the room, Baekhyun, of course, isn’t. When Joohyun asks why he is here, Kyungsoo tells them he and Baekhyun had a big fight and his husband had stormed off the house and drove his car to God knows where.

“Are you not worried?” Joohyun questions, tilting her head. 

Kyungsoo shrugs, “He is a grown man, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Jongdae swallows hard, blames it on his dry throat and drinks more apple juice. 

It’s after dinner when the horrors start. Admittedly, Jongdae expected them earlier, so the call to gather outside in something Junmyeon calls ‘The Pillar of All the Faithful’ doesn’t phase him. However, it does send shivers down his spine the joy that spreads across Minseok’s face, how his gummy smile, that smile that Jongdae adored, looks like it’s full of gruesome sin. 

Minseok leads him outside, even when Joohyun volunteers to be the one to introduce him in the circle. 

“Like your mother did with me, Seokkie,” she offers, a sly smile across her features, “it’s only tradition to be done in such a manner.”

“I know, but I want to have that honor,” Minseok says in return, grabbing Jongdae’s hand and pressing a fleeting kiss to his knuckles, all with an eye contact that bore deep inside his husband’s tortured spirit. 

He is not allowed the honor, however, Junmyeon states that only female consorts are to be introduced by the spouse or the matriarch. Instead, Junmyeon himself will lead Jongdae into the circle.

Could the spirits they worship exist? And if they do, could they see the lie inside Jongdae’s soul when he professed his want to be part of the Faith in front of the book of velvet covers that he would love to burn with his very own hands? Could they see the fear and the dread making him sweat when they walked past what he knew of the property and into a circle marked with white stones painted with black symbols?

There are iron scones in the trees and Jongdae now sees that the one he found in his trespassing had been just one of the many that are now lit in the densely forested area in the background of the property. The fire burns so bright, so many scones so close to each other, that there is almost no snow in the ground, only wet dead leaves. In the centre lies a stone that resembles an altar, runes carved into the surface. It smells foul and Jongdae realizes that it is a smell he knows, the smell of coagulated blood that he has smelled before in Minseok’s clothes after he came from work. 

He wonders now, behind tall winter trees, standing next to people whose faces are masks of a joy that seems so misplaced, if the smell was from the forensics lab or from a freshly killed sacrifice.

Kyungsoo and other three men come then, with a stretcher made of natural leather, and on it, a man struggling against bounds that have tied his arms and legs to each corner of the stretcher. 

Jongdae panics, digs inside the front pocket of his jeans and hopes the camera can at least capture something, anything, any residue of the screaming man who confronts the death dealer, Junmyeon with hooded eyes and a fear inducing smile, with tears and drool and pain. 

“Jongdae,” Joohyun calls, tugging his arm. When he turns to look at her a knife is placed in his hand. It’s heavy and the handle is made of old ivory, and overall seems old and overused. He looks around and sees Minseok’s smile widening with each second, urging him forward with gentle gestures. 

Jongdae walks then, follows the line that takes him to the sacrificial stone and looks deep into Junmyeon’s dark eyes. There seems to be nothing behind them, only an empty void, devoid of any humanity. His daughter is inside the house, left with another member of this unholy faith, and Jongdae is glad that the poor girl is not seeing this in the flesh, maybe only from her window. 

‘What if the soul-eating spirits are already here, wearing human skin, working day jobs, getting married, having children?’ Jongdae thinks as Junmyeon stands behind him, guides him in the proper position, both hands gripping the dagger, ignoring the pleas of mercy coming from the man that lies in front of them. 

Jongdae wonders a million things in a split second. Watching so closely the eyes of this man in front of him, seeing nothing but a deep gut-wrenching fear in those almond shaped eyes, Jongdae thinks that it’s a mystery how he made it alive so far, how he managed to turn the tide on his favour only to be swallowed by it in the last minute. Jongdae thinks, what if Baekhyun doesn't get here on time? 

The dagger descends slowly, following a chant that rises like the sea from the throats of those believers around him. Junmyeon whispers something that he can’t understand. Jongdae doesn’t want to kill this man, doesn’t matter if innocent or not, and doesn’t want to hold back but his hands are trembling and Junmyeon is getting impatient. 

And then, the sound of sirens. 

“Police?” Kyungsoo says, in disbelief, looking around with eyes wide open. All eyes fall on Jongdae, who pushes away Junmyeon’s heavy body. 

The implicit accusation is in everyone’s fearful eyes, centered in Jongdae. 

Jongdae, who runs. 

He pushes past the rest of the people in the circle with arms made of jelly, hears Joohyun’s voice call his name in a shriek. When he looks back, without pausing or slowing down, the only thing he sees is Minseok, wide eyed and gaping, and then he is running after him, quickly picking up the pace. Jongdae swallows a scream and doesn’t look back anymore. 

Jongdae fights against the snow and the strain in his soul that tethers his body to the ground, making it past trees and bushes and the noise of barking dogs. Jongdae runs, thinking, hoping with all his might that he can make it to the broken end of the gate, slid underneath and run to the house, cross the small stream of water and look over his shoulder to see that freedom has been reached. 

He makes it to the fence but it’s not the end of it, so it stands mighty and covered in tall bushes. Jongdae psyches himself up for a second, shakes his fears and attempts to climb… only to be pulled down to the floor. 

“How could you have done this to me?” Minseok’s strained voice says. “I would have killed… I have killed for you!” His eyes are crystalised, glossy and puffy, cheeks marked with tear tracks. But he has a death grip on a knife that fell from Jongdae’s hands. 

Jongdae slithers away from him, fighting the stinging pain climbing up his right leg as he moves using only his arms. He screams when another pain crosses him, puncturing his side. And he knows he is done for but what can he do if not fight back.

He thrashes around in the snow, moving until he is lying on his back and Minseok has straddled him. He keeps saying things, keeps yelling that he loved him, loves him, will love him even in the grave. Jongdae grabs the hand that holds the knife, keeping it away from him. Sees a brief moment of hope when he kneels Minseok’s groin and the knife falls from his hands. 

“I never asked you to do any of that,” he breathes out and finds out he is crying too, voice broken and hoarse and Minseok’s tears are falling on him too. 

Minseok doesn’t say anything else, just leans back, breathes in and out once or twice, looks up when the sound of dogs and men and the faint lights of hand held lanterns appear. And then those two hands that have loved Jongdae, mapped his body from corner to corner, those hands that made dinner for him, that held his own hands when they walked down the street, those two precious hands wrap around his neck. 

Jongdae blindly searches, hands flailing around as the air is stolen from his body, and when he finally gets a grip on something he closes his eyes and simply raises his arm and aims it at the man he has loved since he was a college kid, fighting to keep himself afloat in the world. 

Minseok lets go of him and when Jongdae’s eyes open the only thing he sees are Minseok’s hands moving to his own neck, knife stuck on the left side of his throat, probably cutting the carotid vein. Jongdae watches as the love of his life struggles to keep his life, to keep the blood inside him, and feels the drops of blood that have tainted his own face… they are so warm...

In a last ditch effort, Jongdae sits up… and collapses. 

The last thing he sees, dead or alive or in the transition between those two stages of existing, is Baekhyun’s face swimming into view, screaming his name, followed by men in black uniforms. 

\---::------::-------------------✝️--------------------::------::---

The smell is unfamiliar, dying flowers and a musty scent reminiscent of humidity after a storm. He supposes that’s what graveyards are meant to smell like. 

Ever since he woke up, bandaged and injected with a cocktail of medications, Jongdae hadn’t been able to think of anything other than how putrid the flowers in the hospital room were. It smelled like the incense Joohyun had set in her daughter’s room, like the fuel that lit the torches in the iron sconces in the backyard. It smelled like Minseok’s dying breath, tinting the snow in red with the blood that spilled from his neck like a macabre waterfall. 

How Minseok died was out of question for him, even in his adrenaline fueled state he had been able to tell that he must have punctured the carotid and from that there is no return if unattended. He had arrived dead at the hospital, probably pronounced as such on the way there. 

Jongdae thought he had died in the snow too, but instead he went into shock, having a profound stab wound on his right side and a broken leg. Still, he survived. 

Three weeks in ICU, two in a common room, and then four months of rehab for his injured leg, all of that led to this moment. It led to the trench coat and the pressed down shirt, to the black pants and the polished shoes, to the bouquet of flowers he bought outside the supermarket on a whim. It led to the bronze plaque on the floor, engraved with a name that rolls down his tongue with such familiarity. 

_Kim Minseok, beloved husband, brother and son._

With his very own money he paid for the sepulchre, going against the wishes of his family, who had told him several times that there is no reason for him to pay for the burial of the man who tried to kill him. 

But it’s not the cultist killer who Jongdae buried here, alone under a black umbrella in merciless weather. This is the final resting place of the man he loved for more than a decade, the one who cooked for him, who danced with him, who took him to the movies only to make out in the back rows like dumb teenagers, who watched endless movie marathons with him, the man who knew him inside out, who knew all his secrets. Even though Jongdae didn’t know his secrets in return. 

The world called it ‘Hell on Earth’ and the images that Jongdae’s phone had contained, those he sent to Baekhyun who in turn gave them to the police as evidence of the horrors, were presented to the thousands of people who watched the news daily, witnessing for themselves what Jongdae went through in just a few days. 

The police didn’t divulge the name of the leader of the cult, the media reported it was to protect the victims and those associated with them. When he was asked what happened with him, Jongdae told the neighbours Minseok had died in a skiing accident and they all pitied him. 

Jongdae saw Joohyun one morning as he came back from therapy. She had claimed to be manipulated by her husband and then repeatedly beaten if she refused to comply. Jongdae wasn’t sure how much truth was in those estatements, remembering how happy she seemed whenever she was asked to do something and how often it was her the one ordering people around. 

Jisu walked by her side, her favourite doll at hand and a large hoodie that swallowed her body down to the thighs. When he made eye contact with his former sister in law, Jongdae turned around and pretended he had never met her. In every nightmare, Joohyun’s damned voice was the last thing he heard before Minseok tried to kill him, not with the knife he had really used, but with his very own hands, choking the life out of him. 

Jongdae wakes up every morning questioning his sanity, touching the skin of his neck with tender fingers, afraid that the bruises that had been caused back in the snow are there again, beating like tiny hearts sewn to the column of his throat. 

Baekhyun is deeply affected by the events too. He had arrived to see half of the members of that unholy family with self-inflicted wounds, hoping to die in the snow before being caught by the police and their smelly dogs, and after that he had seen his very own husband charging at him with the intent of killing him. As if that wasn’t enough, he had been the last one to see Minseok alive, struggling in the snow, next to Jongdae’s rapidly bleeding body. 

Jongdae is glad that Baekhyun wasn’t the first one of the two to figure out all the things that happened inside the murder house. If he was damaged as it is, he can’t even thinks of the state of his mind if he had been the one with the dagger and the family tattoo on his neck. 

He’d gotten rid of it in a quick and discreet manner, hurrying to heal all of his body, even if his mind would be slacking for the following years, decades. 

The man he once was and the man he is now, are vastly different. Scarred for life, tired of fighting against shadows and ghosts and exhausted of existing in a world in which all the horrors he saw in tv and movies are real and carried off by people like the one he adored, Jongdae takes in his hand the small orange bottle in which the sleeping pills his psychiatrist had prescribed him rest. 

They are white and shaped like tic tacs. Jongdae opens the cap and pours them all on his open palm, some of them spilling away over the carpeted floor. He turns to look at the empty space beside him, the side of the room that has remained untouched for months, and when he picks the glass of water from the night stand, he wonders what would happen if he took ten sleeping pills. He'll know it in the morning.

Or rather, he won't.  
  
  
  


_I’ve left a trail  
_ _Of blood on the floor  
_ _I've left a trail  
_ _That leads me to the first day  
_ _That I told you that I loved you  
_ _To know what you would say_   
**MALDICIÓN by ROSALÍA**


End file.
